


Stumbling Blocks and Stepping Stones

by LunaMax1214



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, I swear Jacob will find some love, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Victorian Attitudes, assassins don't seem to care about social convention, by some people anyway, going against social conventions, just don't want to spoil it, self-indulgent fuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMax1214/pseuds/LunaMax1214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Isn't it strange that Princes and Kings</i><br/>And clowns who caper in stardust rings,<br/>And common people like you and me<br/>Are builders for eternity?</p><p><i>Each is given a set of tools,</i><br/>A shapeless mass, and a book of rules,<br/>And each must make, ere life has flown,<br/>A stumbling block or a stepping stone.<br/>---R.L. Sharpe’s "A bag of tools," circa 1809</p><p>Warning: Spoilers abound for many things Assassin's Creed, including (but not limited to) AC: Syndicate and AC: Underworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbling Blocks and Stepping Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and my uniquely bonkers way of looking at things. Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. 
> 
> I began reading _Assassin’s Creed: Underworld_ practically the moment I finished my first _Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate_ playthrough. Enjoyed the first two-thirds of the book. Felt ambivalent about the last third until right before the throwdown with Starrick, after which I got miffed. Then I read some things from the in-game codex and tried not to tear my hair out over lore contradictions. The result of all that is you get treated to a self-indulgent, canon-warping fuckery in the form of a novelization from yours truly. You’re welcome? (IDEFK, y’all.)

They were going to need to change trains before long.

 

Such a thing might not be cause for personal crisis for most people, especially anyone from a major metropolitan area, but Evie Frye was not most people. Evie Frye was someone who had never been farther from home than what could be managed in three hours by freight line. Leaving home in and of itself wasn’t necessarily a noteworthy thing, given her particular circumstances and. . .singular profession. Some members of the Brotherhood were very well traveled. Historically speaking, even the less celebrated of their number had at least traveled across their respective countries of origin, only returning home from time to time.

 

At that thought, Evie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall of the freight car. Her brother’s dismissive attitude toward their hometown was not entirely unwarranted. Their father had been gone from the world a little over four weeks, but he had been ill for three times that before the end finally came. The very thought of going back to the house in Crawley was enough to make Evie’s throat tighten. That, more than anything, was the most likely reason for her behaving so terribly out of character.

 

She opened her eyes and glanced to her right, but remained otherwise motionless. Her twin brother was seated less than an arm’s length away, in a position near identical to hers. Legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, head tipped back and leaning against the wall. Where Evie’s hands were folded in her lap, his were crossed over his chest. His tattered newsboy cap was pulled low over his eyes while her cowl was pulled up in an attempt to accomplish the same. From a lifetime spent studying one another as only twins could, Evie knew Jacob was well and truly asleep. He could sleep anywhere, and managed to do so whenever possible. This was the reason he seemed alert and ready for anything at any given time, because he usually was.

 

In turn, this also meant she was well practiced at rousing him from his slumber no matter the circumstances. Sometimes, it was necessary, such as when they were supposed to be listening to their lessons and Jacob had nodded off out of boredom. Other times, it was less necessary and just something she did to catch him off his guard, like the morning after the one and only time they had raided the liquor cabinet in the study. (It had been Jacob’s idea in the first place, after all, so it seemed only fair he share in the torment that was their first hangover for exactly the same amount of time she had to.) It was an amusing and occasionally useful side benefit to knowing him so well, and given the current situation, she felt she could do with a bit of amusement.

 

Habit kept her from doing anything to telegraph her intent despite the fact Jacob was out cold. Without moving anything other than her right leg, Evie kicked out to her side and caught her twin in the ankle with the heel of her boot. Jacob jolted awake, pushing off the wall of the train car with such force that his hat flew forward off his head and hooked itself onto the toe of Evie’s boot. She chuckled lightly as he sputtered, left hand stretching out and preparing to engage the hidden blade in his gauntlet as his right hand went to his head, patting around for his hat. Smiling wryly, she reached forward and retrieved the hat from her foot. Spinning it around on her closed fist a few times, she said, “Some Assassin you are, getting so easily startled by your own sister.”

 

Jacob made a sour face as he snatched the spinning cap from Evie’s hand. “Some sister you are,” he said as he ran his hand through his unruly locks before hiding them away under the cap once more. “Kicking a hard-working Assassin when he’s sleeping.”

 

Evie snorted at that, but said nothing.

 

As if his mind were finally catching up with transpiring events, Jacob’s expression changed from irritated to quizzical. “Why did you wake me, anyway?”

 

“We’re going to need to change trains.”

 

Jacob looked out the bale door at the passing scenery. “Really? So soon?”

  
  
“You’ve been asleep for nearly an hour.”

 

“And we haven’t made it to the city yet? What kind of engineer takes this long to go less than fifty miles?”

 

“He’s pulling freight, not passengers. Going too quickly startles the cattle, especially around curves and turns. If they get rattled, it makes it twice as difficult to get them to disembark once they reach the depot. Or, if he takes the curves too quickly, he could upset the lumber shipment and lose the load to the side of the tracks.”  

 

Jacob’s incredulous look was not entirely surprising, but it was also not a wholly welcome sight. That look was usually prelude to him saying something rude. “For the sake of avoiding a boring conversation that isn’t important and I have no interest in, I’m not going to ask you how or why you know all that.”

 

Evie swatted at Jacob’s elbow. “Tit.”

 

“Hag,” Jacob said absently, most likely out of reflex, eyes returning to scanning the changing landscape. “How much longer, do you think?”

  
“Based on the time passed alone, I would say we’re nearly to Southwark.”

 

“Which means we’ll need to jump a train heading northwest toward Cannon Street Station. If we can even find a direct line going that way.”

 

On any other topic, Evie would have been shocked that her brother knew something about somewhere they had never been. On the matter of London and anything related to it, however, she wasn’t surprised at all. Jacob had been near-obsessed with the city for as long as she could remember. It was one of the few interests outside of their mutual profession and family legacy they shared. “And if all goes well, we can be in Whitechapel by late afternoon.”

 

“Whitechapel?”

 

Evie rolled her eyes. “Yes, Whitechapel. The borough in which the only member of the Brotherhood left in London resides?”

 

Jacob waved in her direction and made vaguely affirmative noises by way of response before returning his attention outside. Evie suppressed a sigh and let the subject drop.

 

Without conversation to distract her, Evie’s thoughts wandered back to the events leading up to boarding the train to London in the first place. Not for the first time, she wondered just what the hell they were getting themselves into. They were mere _hours_ past their blooding, and all things considered, it wasn’t as if everything had gone off without a hitch. Sir Brewster’s laboratory and everything inside had gone up in smoke, though Evie was not convinced the Apple of Eden had been destroyed, only that it had _caused_ all the surrounding destruction. Jacob had apparently derailed a train ( _“The train derailed and. . .I happened to be on it. Mere coincidence, I swear!”_ ) which had, in turn, caused a great deal of damage to a bridge being built in southern Croydon.

 

All in all, not the sorts of things that would inspire confidence in anyone, much less their elders.

 

But, as Jacob had pointed out in the midst of George’s scolding them, their targets had been eliminated. That was the end goal. On that point, her brother was not wrong. Perhaps it had been their (albeit debatable) success that had spurred her on when Jacob brought up the notion of liberating the capital from control of the Templars. Or perhaps it had been the disdainful manner in which George had scoffed at their efforts _and_ their enthusiastic ambition that had stoked the fires of rebellion in her mind. More than an hour later, the words still stung: _“Then all in all, a successful mission,_ **_in spite of you two.”_ **

 

No matter the reason why, Evie could scarcely believe she had agreed to her brother’s mad idea to head to London to fight for the freedom of current and future generations _on a whim_. Reckless behavior was Jacob’s domain, not hers. She was a rational, level-headed person who planned things out before taking action. Yet, here she was, sitting beside him on a slow-moving train getting closer and closer to the heart of enemy territory. With only the clothes on their backs, the weapons they were carrying, and whatever might be in their pockets.

 

Evie cleared her throat to try to disperse the bubble of panic that was rising within it.

 

Jacob mistook this as her trying to get his attention, and turned his head to look at her. “What?”

 

Thinking quickly, Evie pulled a clean handkerchief out of her coat, and unfolded it so it lay flat on the floor in between them. “Turn out your pockets. It just occurred to me I have no idea what we have on our person that will be useful once we arrive.”

 

Jacob flexed his left forearm beneath his gauntlet, once again engaging the blade hidden within. With a lopsided grin, he used it to point at her own gauntlet as he said, “Dearest sister. . .surely you know these are all we really need.”

 

Evie didn't bother stifling her long-suffering sigh as she emptied the contents of her numerous pockets onto her handkerchief. It took her kicking him in the ankle a second time to manage it, but Jacob finally followed her lead. Between the two of them, there were a box of matches, a small bag of sweeties (because of course Jacob had some), an empty money clip, a fountain pen with no ink in it, a cracked whetstone, lint, some springs, a tarnished snuff box, and two large fistfuls of bank notes. There were also two pocket watches, but Jacob’s was broken.

 

Just as she was about to ask him what happened to his watch, Jacob exclaimed, “Cripes, Evie, what did you do, stop to rob a bank on the way home?”

 

Forgetting the watch, she replied, “I could ask you the same question.”

 

Jacob shrugged. “I emptied the safe before I left to catch my train. Not like Ferris is going to be needing it where he’s headed.”

 

Evie shook her head and started separating the notes by denomination. She had to count them three times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. “This is nearly 3100£,” she said, thoughts spinning off in various directions. The only time she had seen such a large sum of money was during an assignment with her father, during which they had witnessed an exchanging of funds between a factory manager and a hired killer. Seeing such a sum all at once up close was a very different thing.

 

Jacob, for his part, seemed entirely unfazed. “Well, that definitely means a celebratory pint or five is in order,” he quipped, picking up roughly half the bills from the floor. He then divided them up into two piles in his lap. With a satisfied expression, he bunched up one set of bills with the pilfered money clip and split the remaining pile into two again before hiding the cash in various pockets.

 

“Are you sure you should be carrying that much?”

  
“What, as if you carrying it all would be safer?”

 

“Since I’m not the one with a weakness for pub games, yes.”

 

To his credit, Jacob did not stick his tongue out at her. “Spoilsport,” he groused as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes once more.

 

Evie reached over and yanked his cap down over his face before he could stop her. “Twit.”

 

=========

 

As it turned out, Evie had been right to be concerned about the money. Not that Jacob was _ever_ going to tell his sister she was right. About anything.

 

 _I rather liked that money clip_ , he thought as he chased his pint-sized quarry through the streets of Whitechapel. If he didn’t catch that filthy dipper, Evie would never let him hear the end of it. Hell, she might not let him hear the end of it, anyway, but at least he’d have gotten the money back for his trouble.  "Step straight off the train, get my purse snatched,” Jacob grumbled to himself as he picked up his pace. “I wonder if what else this fine city has to offer?”

 

He was determining exactly what he was going to do once he caught up with the little ragamuffin ( _can’t rough him up, he’s just a kid_ ) when he rounded the corner of yet another red brick building and slowed to a stop in the alleyway. The pickpocket, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old now that Jacob stopped to think about it, had been stopped by a pair of rough-looking men in bowler hats and red coats. Anyone with eyes and half a brain could tell from the look on the boy’s face he wanted nothing to do with these chaps. That would have been more than enough to raise Jacob’s hackles.

 

Seeing the bigger of the two thugs try to pick the kid up by his neck was just too much.

 

“Fine, you little mobsman” Jacob called out, trying to pull the hooligans’ attention away from the boy. “Keep it!”

 

It worked. The one with the beard released the boy as his clean-shaven mate said, “Well, well. What have we here?” They moved in on Jacob as the boy, now forgotten in favor of a potentially bigger score, beat a hasty retreat via the other end of the alley.

 

“Looks like we’ve got a trespasser,” remarked the one with the beard. He pulled out a knife and flipped it end over end a few times, as casually as one would flip a coin. “You’re on our property.” _(As if you own a damn thing other than that ridiculous mustache, Beardy.)_ Jacob supposed the average citizen would find the sight intimidating, but Jacob was far from average. The only things he felt were a mix of anticipation and annoyance. The former was due to loving a good fight, while the latter was in response to noticing his opponent’s knife probably hadn’t been properly cared for. Ever.

 

Jacob didn’t bother with a reply. He backed up a few paces to put some distance between himself and his would-be assailants, but not out of fear. He just needed some time to retrieve his knuckledusters from his pocket before anyone took a swing. As he pushed the bit of brass against his leg to secure it over his fingers one-handed, No-Beard pulled out his own knife, and wasting no more time, lunged for Jacob.

 

Blocking the strike was easy, thanks to the bracer he never left home without. Keeping track of Beardy out of the corner of his eye, Jacob pushed No-Beard’s knife arm to the side, following up with a right cross straight to his jaw. He felt more than saw Beardy coming in from his right side, and pulled his right arm back to elbow him square in the nose. Jacob glanced back to see blood pouring from the other man’s nostrils, his knife falling to the dirt as he raised both hands to his face.

 

Turning his attention back to his first adversary, Jacob parried the punch No-Beard tried to deliver with his off hand. With a yell, he shoved the other man into wall of the nearest building, grinning in satisfaction as the goon’s head bounced off the bricks. Jacob reared his head back then brought it forward fast, using his forehead to bash in the bridge of No-Beard’s nose. The goal was to cause as much pain as possible to keep his opponent otherwise occupied.  That mission accomplished, Jacob let No-Beard go and turned back to deal with Beardy.

 

Just in time to see a blade erupt from the man’s throat in a fountain of blood.

 

Then came the tell-tale snick of a hidden blade retracting into its housing. Evie came into view as Beardy fell sideways to the ground. “Jacob,” she said as she placed her booted foot on the dying man’s neck to keep him from rolling around as he gasped his last. “Do please finish up already. This is no time for sightseeing.”

 

Without looking away from his sister, Jacob engaged his own hidden blade and pushed it, hard and quick, through No-Beard’s throat. The gurgling sound of the thug choking on his own blood was all the confirmation he needed to know he had managed the kill. Canting his head sideways and throwing his free hand to the side, Jacob glared at his twin. “Happy now?”

 

Evie produced yet another clean handkerchief from one of her pockets. She mopped up the few spots of blood that had landed on her cheek, then placed the cloth in Jacob’s open hand. “Quite.”

 

“Color me surprised,” Jacob muttered. His exasperation didn’t stop him from accepting the proffered cloth, however.

 

Evie’s attention had already moved to something else. As he cleaned up his face the best he could without a mirror, he followed her line of sight until it came to rest on a smokestack several blocks away. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about it, except for the fact that nothing else for for miles around seemed to rival it in height.

 

_. . .Ah. Of course._

 

Before Jacob had even finished the thought, Evie said, “It seems to me a bird’s eye view would help us get our bearings.” With an impish grin, she looked back at Jacob. “I’ve always been the quicker climber, haven’t I?”

 

Jacob shoved the now-soiled handkerchief into his coat. “Not since we were two.”

 

“Race you to the top of that factory,” was all the warning he got before Evie took off.

 

As he sprinted after her, Jacob could swear he caught sight of the urchin in the red kerchief and blue railway cap who had nicked one-fifth of all the money the twins currently had in the world. That fact, however, was not enough to make Jacob stop running. Nothing short of being shot would ever make him give up the chance to one-up his sister.

 

And even that might not be enough.

=========

As the dark-haired pair of grown ups sprinted past him, the boy in the red kerchief tugged on the brim of his blue railway cap twice. He glanced across the way to a shadowy doorway beneath a brown awning, and nodded once. As if materializing from the shadows themselves, a man in a white hood stepped out from doorway and nodded to the boy in return.

Information thus exchanged, the boy turned around and walked toward the main thoroughfare. He had done what was asked of him. Now, it was time to head to Babylon Alley and find out what his boss wanted to do with the take.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> While starting my second playthrough, it struck me how reckless it was for the then-inexperienced Frye twins to just up and head off the London despite knowing their opposition was likely gargantuan in size and scope. It seemed especially out of character for Evie, being the planner of the pair, and the notion just wouldn’t leave me alone. Then I finished Underworld and realized that, originally, the first two missions of the game (Sequences 1 and 2) were meant to be Jacob and Evie’s respective bloodings. (For the unfamiliar: A blooding is the first assignment an apprentice is sent on without the assistance of their master or mentor, and results in an assassination.) That pretty much solidified it for me that both twins, not just Jacob, are in over their heads and a bit out of their league during the core events of Syndicate. So, here we are.
> 
> As always, thank you to my internet wife, [ficlicious,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ficlicious/pseuds/ficlicious) for her beta reading, as well as her overall encouragement and putting up with my nonsense. Many thanks also go out to cullenlavallanforever from Tumblr for being a fabulous fellow fangirl. Cheers, L. :)


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